


Back-Alley Brawl

by INMH



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Strong Language, Suspense, Violence, minor blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Les Miserables kink meme. Sequel to Glass for Glass. Enjolras makes a few poor choices while scouting the streets of Paris one night. Warning: Violence, Strong Language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back-Alley Brawl

**Author's Note:**

> [Link to the Les Miserables Kink Meme.](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11823.html)

Enjolras believed in the power of the people.

Obviously, or he wouldn't be fighting so hard for them.

There weren't many limits on what Enjolras was willing to do to further the betterment of his fellow citizens. Many hours were spent tirelessly creating and editing pamphlets, gathering information, gathering weapons, winning over those who could be won over to their cause, and always, _always_ , keeping a close eye on political developments within the city to see how they fit in to the bigger plan- and on top of it all, he maintained perfect grades at the university.. Needless to say, he had had many sleepless nights and long, long days of work.

On occasion, this work took Enjolras into some of the less than savory parts of Paris. Though the extent of his ideals had occasionally caused others to label him as naïve, foolish, he most certainly wasn't: He was well-aware of the dangers that certain parts of the city had to offer, but those parts couldn't be ignored for the sake of fear. If he could convince any person to take up the fight for their rights as humans and French citizens, he would consider the endeavor a complete success.

All the same, caution was to be had. Bahorel had leant Enjolras a knife, a last resort in the event that he couldn't charm his way out of danger. Aside from that, Enjolras possessed two considerable other weapons: His smaller frame allowed him not only to appear as less than a threat than he actually was, but to escape very quickly and agilely when required.

There was also Enjolras's bearing that provided a level of protection- he had a rather… He preferred to refer to it as 'unapproachable'- demeanor. It was a demeanor that, apparently (he was unconscious of it until just recently), made him a rather intimidating figure. Upon learning to better adjust himself for the situation, Enjolras found that this way of holding himself could be extremely useful for keeping people he didn't want near him at bay. It also partially explained why Enjolras hadn't been constantly harassed during his sojourns into the darker parts of Paris in the past.

On this particular night, Enjolras was relying on all three to keep him safe as he scouted for people who might be swayed to their cause. He had never been to this part of the city before, and was less familiar with the twists and turns, the nooks and crannies here than in other places. He stepped quickly, so that there would be less opportunity for someone to try and halt his progress, and kept up that façade of inapproachability as he did.

It didn't always help.

"Hel _lo_ there," A man who couldn't have been too much older than Enjolras seemed to materialize from thin air directly in his path. Before Enjolras had time to register his appearance, there was a hand clamping down on his wrist and tugging him closer. The man reeked of absinthe, and his voice was slurred even worse than Grantaire's on a given night. "Aren't you a pretty thing? Why you wandering around all by yourself? Never know what could-"

Enjolras wrenched his arm from the stranger's grasp, backed away and went to circle around him, but he was grabbed by the shoulder of his jacket. "Get off."

"What's with the attitude, lovely? I can show you a good time."

Enjolras's left hand went to his pocket, making sure it was close to the knife if he needed it. If the man wasn't so obviously intoxicated, he might have been flippant and tried to offer him a pamphlet. As it was he figured that such an effort would be about as futile as trying to sell the idea of revolution to the stone wall at their right, and didn't feel like wasting the time or the effort. "Get. _Off_."

This time Enjolras was able to rip himself away from the man and stay away. He quickly continued on, and heard several rather offensive phrases thrown at his back as he departed. Enjolras didn't turn back to look, and only relaxed a bit once he was certain that he hadn't been followed.

The night was not as successful as usual. Enjolras was not, by any extent of the imagination, timid or hesitant around others- indeed, his ability to communicate with people had been crucial in bringing them in and keeping them interested. However, in his experience of communication with others Enjolras had learned very well when it was a bad idea to approach people, and that was precisely the feeling he was getting from those he encountered during his walk on this night. The few times he did stop and approach someone, they were quiet and wary in a way that felt somewhat foreboding.

For the majority of the night, Enjolras obeyed his better sense and kept on high alert, aware of every sound and sight; the focus it required was somewhat draining, and it didn't take long for him to grow weary. He spent maybe three hours looking for people to offer pamphlets and words to before deciding that his efforts might be better spent elsewhere and deciding to head either home or back to the Musain. Enjolras began to backtrack, heading back the way he came.

Enjolras had covered maybe half of the distance he had traveled when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an alleyway.

It was then that Enjolras made his first real mistake of the evening. Whether or not it qualified as a simple mistake or a thoroughly stupid one is up to you.

Enjolras believed- if he was recalling the map he had studied earlier correctly- that the wall of buildings to his left bordered (or were at least very close to) a street that he could use to get home, and that the alleyway he was currently contemplating might take him there more quickly than going to the end of this particular street and finding a official connection to the neighboring one. Given that he had studied that map very, very carefully, he was confident that he was right.

It was not unreasonable to suggest that a small alleyway such as this one might be less dangerous than the main stretch of street. If thieves were waiting to jump someone, why would they wait in a place with a high unlikelihood of anyone passing by? Enjolras reasoned that the main street would be more hazardous, because anyone could spot him walking and choose to follow. The alley seemed quiet, undisturbed and relatively unused- therefore, his chances of running into someone were slimmer.

He weighed the options carefully, considering that phrases akin to 'meeting someone in a dark alleyway' were common for a reason. But in the end, the memory of that rather unsavory man from earlier made Enjolras cringe; he didn't want any like-minded people seeing where he was going or possibly finding out where he lived, and ducking through the alley might give him a better chance of assuring that none of them did. Continuing as he did might also cause him to cross paths with that very same man again, which was the last thing that Enjolras wanted.

And so he took the path to his left, eyes fixated on the end of the passage and ears strained for any noises from behind. The walk couldn't have been more than two minutes before, eventually, he arrived in a wide square area where the alley branched off in two different directions. Enjolras paused, examining each; one went up a set of stairs, and another curved around a corner.

It was then that the night took a turn for the considerably worse.

"Evening!"

Enjolras froze, and it took a good deal of control not to jump out of his skin from surprise.

It was, he thought, a skill those who lived in such darkness must have easily mastered: Much like the man from earlier three figures seemed to appear from nowhere, two blocking Enjolras's progression and another blocking the path back to where he had just come from. He couldn't make out any distinct features in the darkness, but he could tell that two of the men were about his height, the third being somewhat taller. All three, though, were a bit bulkier, muscled- more likely than not, much physically stronger than Enjolras.

 _Damn_.

"Good evening," He responded, voice steady even as his hand dipped into his pocket and closed around the hilt of the knife. "Did you want something?"

The man to the right snickered. "In a manner of speaking."

"You're new here." The man behind Enjolras remarked, and he spared only a brief glance over his shoulder to ensure that the man was still a reasonable distance away. "Haven't seen you before. Where are you from?"

"Paris."

"Oh-ho, a _comédien!_ That's wonderful." Enjolras saw something glint in the darkness, and he didn't bother with pretenses anymore: He pulled the knife from his pocket and held it down by his side so that all three of the men could see it. The man on the right acted as though he hadn't seen it. "Why aren't you smiling, comedian? Is something bothering you?"

That glint again.

"Let me pass."

"Was that an order, boy?" The man on the left has a slight hiss to his voice, and Enjolras couldn't tell if it was natural or born of anger.

Enjolras shot another lightning-quick glance over his shoulder and found that the one behind him had taken a step closer. "I only want to move on."

"Already? But the fun hasn't even started."

Speed wouldn't work: There were only three escape routes, and all were covered. If he picked a path and went for it, all three men would jump on him. Clearly his attitude wasn't putting them off in the slightest, diminished because of the situation. Of his natural advantages, he had only one left: His stature, which might mislead the men into believing that he wasn't as strong as he was.

"I think we-"

As the man to the right spoke, the one behind Enjolras made his move.

The darkness didn't help the ensuing conflict in the slightest- Enjolras had only the sharp movements of the man's arm and the occasional of a blade to warn him where the danger was, and three times he felt pain flare up on his right arm and stomach. It wasn't bad enough to make him stop, but it was an unnecessary distraction. Enjolras's own attacks were poor at best, his opponent apparently much better at seeing in the dark than he and was therefore able to avoid many of the blows.

In a stroke of good fortune, the other two stayed where they were, preferring to watch as their friend drove Enjolras towards them. Finally, what felt like the hilt of his enemy's knife smashed into Enjolras's wrist and sent his own weapon flying off into the darkness, leaving him unarmed. Before Enjolras could regain his bearings one of the men behind him had grabbed him around the shoulders and held him still.

Enjolras's opponent stepped forward, close enough that the blond could make out a somewhat ghoulish visage leering at him. He brought his knife up and slowly drew the edge of the blade over Enjolras's cheek- it hurt, but it wasn't clear if blood had been drawn or not.

"What a pretty face you've got." he man's breath smelled of fish and chewing tobacco, a combination so foul it was almost dizzying. Enjolras struggled against the man holding him, trying not to move his head too much (the blade was still dangerously close to his face), but the man was too strong. "You're looking a little pale, though: Let's give you some color."

This time there was no mistaking the fact that the knife had drawn blood. Enjolras could feel it trailing down his face, over his cheek and jaw and down onto his jacket. The initial pain wasn't terrible, but the man struck quickly enough that it surprise Enjolras and caused him to cry out.

And then, for the first time that night, Enjolras's luck turned around.

Not a few seconds after his own exclamation, the third man, the one who had yet to join in the festivities, let out a shout as something- some _one_ \- assaulted him. His friends turned their heads, stunned, and Enjolras took the opportunity: He brought up a foot and planted it solidly into the stomach of the man in front of him, and then used it to stomp down hard on the foot of the one holding him. Said man's confusion and apparent inability to focus on two things at once was what allowed Enjolras to wriggle out of his arms and drop to the ground, scrambling to find his own knife.

The next few minutes were a blur of confusion. As dark as it was, Enjolras had no small fear that he might actually attack whoever it was that had come to his rescue rather than the ones who had made a rescue necessary. At one point Enjolras was taking on the man who had cut him once more, and it seemed the knowledge that his friends weren't ready to jump in at any moment to help was leaving him nervous, making him slip- it was this shakiness that allowed Enjolras to disarm him, followed quickly by a very solid punch to the jaw.

Enjolras turned back around and saw the other two men trying and miserably failing to take on the newcomer. Said newcomer had grabbed something- a broken piece of timber, perhaps- and as Enjolras watched, smacked one man in the stomach and the other in the leg with it. The fellow was swift and strong, and Enjolras decided that keeping his distance would be wiser than jumping in to help for the moment.

The man who had been hit in the gut fell over with a groan, but the other- the man who had first pulled a knife earlier on- tried desperately to slash and cut at his opponent. There were a few grunts and gasps, but it wasn't clear if any injuries had been inflicted. Eventually, the last of the trio fell to the ground with a huff of pain; the man Enjolras had punched was still dazed, and the one who had been hit in the stomach was curled up on the ground in agony.

Enjolras was so busy taking stock that he didn't see his savior until he had been gripped by the wrist and pulled towards one of the paths. "Come on."

That voice. Enjolras knew that voice- how did he know that voice?

The alley was narrow and winded around a few buildings (all right, so maybe his estimation that the buildings had bordered another street had been inaccurate), but less than five minutes later they exited onto a wide street lit by plenty of streetlights. Enjolras stumbled over to one to catch his breath, and then turned back to thank the man who had very likely just saved his life-

And it was Grantaire.

Grantaire, the man who drank his way through the Musain and the Corinth on a regular basis; Grantaire, the man who seemed to have made it his mission in life to irritate Enjolras; _Grantaire_ , the same man who had shared two romantic (if one wanted to call a kiss and a drunken hand-job in front of all of their friends 'romantic') episodes with in the past two months.

 _Hell_.

"Grantaire," Enjolras panted. "What- What are you doing here?"

"I have a friend who lives down here!" Grantaire panted, hands on his knees even as he jerked his head back towards the alley. He wobbled a little, and it was clear that he'd been drinking- not that that was unusual. His left check and jaw were bright red from a punch, and would likely be bruised later. "I was going to visit her. What are _you_ doing here?" Enjolras wordlessly held up a pamphlet, and Grantaire looked ready to hit him as he ripped the paper from his hand. "Excellent. Fucking wonderful. You'll die before your barricades ever go up." He snarled, ripping the pamphlet in half and grinding it into the grit of the ground.

"Do you have any idea how long it took to make those pamphlets?" Enjolras snapped as he momentarily, ridiculously forgot the events of the past ten minutes and recalling Combeferre's currently defunct wrist from all of the writing, Jehan getting chastised by his professor that morning for coming in late because he had needed to bring those writings to the printer.

"Do you have any idea how close you came just now to having your throat cut?" Grantaire got very close to Enjolras and lowered his voice. "Those men you just met are murderers, Enjolras, and they don't do it because they're the poor, misguided _abaissé_ \- they do it because they fucking _enjoy_ it, and I guarantee you that if I hadn't shown up that your mutilated corpse would be floating in the Seine by morning!"

That was enough to mollify Enjolras- at least, for now. He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Grantaire deflated, running a hand over his face. "Don't thank me. Just- Christ, Enjolras, don't _ever_ go down there alone. You need at _least_ two other people with you if you're going to go there and espouse your revolutionary wisdom."

Enjolras cocked an eyebrow at him. "You're alone."

Grantaire's smile was wry. "You're not me."

Enjolras felt that he should take offense at that, at Grantaire's implication that he would need at least two other people to hold his own against a few thugs, but had neither the energy nor the will to battle the other man further. He reached up and touched the wound on his cheek, grimacing when his hand came away significantly bloody. "Damn."

"Here." Grantaire pulled a (thankfully clean) handkerchief out of his pocket. "I ought to make you use one of your precious pamphlets, but here." Enjolras's lips tightened, but he thanked Grantaire anyway. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"Not considerably." He twitched his arm, and realized with a quiet growl that the knife had cut through to his skin. That meant he would not only have to get the jacket cleaned to rid it of blood, but he would also have to repair it as well.

"Yes, well, I'll be the judge of that, Monsieur Let's Walk Down a Dark Alleyway at Night in _Paris_." Grantaire's voice seethed with irritation as he examined Enjolras's arm. "For the love of God, even in my most drunken state I know better than to push my luck down there." Enjolras fumed quietly as he awaited the verdict. "Eh, not bad. Your jacket will have a little more blood on it, but it looks like it'll need a cleaning anyway. Anything else?"

"No." Enjolras's stomach was stinging a little bit, but the area was not wet and there was no blood visible, so he let it be. "And you? You fought rather ferociously. Are you injured?"

Grantaire turned a bit pink and shook his head. "A little nick on the side, but nothing serious."

"I'll be the judge of that." Enjolras remarked flatly before gripping Grantaire by the shoulder and turning him until he could see the wound in question. Grantaire was in the habit of wearing darker colors, and so it took Enjolras a moment to realize that the older man was lying through his teeth: That was most certainly not a _nick_ , and the green fabric was quickly becoming dark with blood. "Where are we?"

"About a fifteen minute walk from the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Why?"

"Who is closer, Joly or Combeferre?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm bringing you to one of them before you bleed out."  
  
Grantaire frowned. "It's not that bad."  
  
"It may not _hurt_ badly, but it's bleeding rather badly. Who is closer?"

Grantaire twisted to examine the injury himself, turning towards the light to get a better look, and than grimaced. "Joly. Ten minutes in that direction-" He jerked his head towards the end of the street. "-if we move quickly."

They started walking, and it became apparent that Grantaire's injury was more painful than he had previously believed, because he winced with every step. After twice being required to stop and wait for him to catch up, Enjolras sighed. "Would you like a hand?" He dared to hope that Grantaire was in enough pain that he wouldn't make any jokes, and that seemed to be the case when he accepted the offer and moved right next to Enjolras. The blond floundered a moment, uncertain of where to put his hands, but then placed one on Grantaire's hip and another on the arm that Grantaire put around his shoulders.

They hadn't been this close to one another since The Second Incident That We Do Not Speak Of, and the reminder of that closeness made Enjolras turn his head away so that he wasn't looking at Grantaire.

Being the ass that he was, of course Grantaire had to take the opportunity.

"What's wrong, Apollo- Are you afraid I'll kiss you again?"

Enjolras glared at him.

"Wipe that smirk off your face or I'll give you something else for Joly to patch up."

-End

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, I think this is becoming a series.


End file.
